


Little Boy Blue

by Mandibles



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 22:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Mass Effect 3, Legion decides to help Shepard get some needed sleep. From the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Boy Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: 
> 
> During ME3, while Legion is on the Normandy
> 
> Legion hears that Shepard is having trouble sleeping. After a brief extranet research session, Legion comes up with a solution.
> 
> The Geth picks up Shepard, rocks them back and forth like a baby and sings an 8bit lullaby.
> 
> -
> 
> Here's that somethin' somethin' I was talking about. Sorry if a leans a bit too much into Legion/Shep territory, but this Shepard is apparently a huge gethophile (like myself >>). Hope you like anyway! And, the title is taken from the old lullaby/nursery rhyme that goes:
> 
> Little boy blue, come blow your horn,  
> The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn  
> Where is the boy who looks after the sheep?  
> He's under the haystack, fast asleep.
> 
> It reminded me of Paragon!Shep, so . . . yeah! :V

Shepard doesn’t understand how anyone could hate Legion. In fact, Shepard probably cares about geth more than anyone else on this ship does. Still, old habits die hard, and Shepard’s spent a good deal of time battling geth. So when he steps into his cabin, flicks on the light, and finds Legion standing less than a foot away, who can really blame him for whipping out his pistol? Luckily, he catches himself before he decides to empty his ammunition into the poor guy.  
  
“Jesus fuck, Legion!” Shepard says, not squeals,  _says_ , “I nearly made Swiss cheese outta you!”  
  
Legion’s head panels splay, retract, shift; a sign of confusion Shepard has observed. If it is confused, though, it doesn’t address it. Instead, “This unit apologizes, Shepard-Commander.”  
  
Shepard rubs his neck. “It’s alright. Just, er, let’s not pull stunts like that in the quarian quarters, ‘kay?” The geth nods and Shepard suddenly feels out of place. He heads down the stairs and sits on his bed. “So, uh, yeah. You can sit where ever you like, I guess. To what do I owe this visit?”  
  
“I have no use for monetary—”  
  
“Figure of speech, champ. Why are you here?”  
  
Legion takes a moment, thinks, then follows after Shepard and stands too close as the man starts working his boots off. Nothing Shepard isn’t used to, though, so he only continues his job and smiles.  
  
“So . . . ?”  
  
“This unit listened to Creator Tali and Liara discuss—”  
  
Shepard tsks. “Spying’s a bad habit to get into—”  
  
“—They said that Shepard-Commander was not achieving adequate rest.”  
  
“Huh?” Dark, sweaty socks are tossed. “Oh, what, like sleep? Is that what you mean?” Oh, right, because sleep is a thing. Shepard almost forgot.  
  
Moving panels, consensus, then, “Yes.”  
  
Shepard can’t help but chuckle, his elbows on his knees as he observes the geth. Now, aren’t geth just the tops? Especially this one. “Aw, no need to be worried about me, little friend. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”  
  
Legion actually starts at that. “Shepard-Comm—”  
  
“Figure of speech.”  
  
It settles back on its feet, a little calmer. “What does this ‘figure of speech’ mean?”  
  
“It means until the Reapers are dead and gone and I actually have the time to take a shit, I’m not going to get so much as a catnap any time soon.”   
  
The platform stares, unmoving. Disapproving.  
  
Shepard sighs. “I promise I’ll get some sleep tonight. I already have my shoes off, see?”  
  
“We have reached consensus.”  
  
“Do I want to know?”  
  
Legion nods, its single eye-type-thing (Shepard has never been sure what to call it and it never seemed appropriate to ask) glows slightly. “Shepard-Commander needs rest. We will assist.”  
  
A pause.  
  
“You will assist.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“In getting me to sleep.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Shepard laughs to himself. Determined little guy, it really wants to help. He should at least indulge it. “Well, you’ve got my attention, Legion. What do you have planned for me?”

Legion beelines for a dresser. “We have researched common human sleeping practices on the extranet.” It pulls out a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt from the top drawer, then a pair of socks from the bottom drawer, and—wait, how does it know where all these things are?  
  
Best not to ask. Shepard isn’t sure he wants to know.  
  
He gratefully accepts the clothes and when he stands to change, Legion gives him space, turns to give him privacy. D’aww, now isn’t that the cutest thing? See? Who could hate this guy? When he’s changed and has tossed his stuff away, he drops back down on the bed, clears his throat.  
  
“Phase one complete, I guess. What’s next?”  
  
Legion glances to see that he’s dressed first (d’aww), then moves to sit beside him. “Shepard-Commander needs to lie down.” It gestures to its lap, opens its arms.   
  
Shepard hesitates, but quickly shakes it off. The geth’s intentions are nothing less than innocent and he would hate to hurt its feelings. He can’t help feeling incredibly foolish as he lays his head in the crook of Legion’s arm, but admits that it feels good when those fingers caress his forehead. He can feel himself relax.  
  
That is until Legion’s hand leaves his face and its arm curls behind his knees.  
  
“Whoa—hey—what—” Shepard tries to shift, but Legion’s grip is resolute. “How is this part of—”  
  
“Shh.”   
  
Shepard stares. Though the sound is static-y and inhuman, there’s no way to deny that the geth just  _shushed_  him. He shouldn’t complain, though, seeing as he complies without a second thought, letting himself be held like an infant.  
  
Once Legion begins to rock him though, gently, gently from side, he can’t keep his silence. “Legion—Legion, this is humiliating—”  
  
The platform shushes him again, but this time it’s longer, lower, like a mother soothing a fussy child, and these parallels now are just getting too strange. Still, surprisingly, he’s comfortable. After a bit of rocking and Legion’s quiet noises, Shepard feels his eyes become heavy, his body easing.   
  
Then, it begins to sing.   
  
Well, not  _sing_  per se. A soft tune fills the air, reminiscent of the arcade games he used to play as a kid on Earth, back when he used to run with the Reds. He remembers pickpocketing, mugging, anything to get money, just so he and the guys could burn it all on nights of beer and girls and 8-bit games. Those were simpler times, weren’t they? Sure, he didn’t lead a model life or anything, but there weren’t Reapers or military training or Akuze or dying and being rebuilt by some wealthy asshole who kills humans to save humans and where’s the fucking logic in  _that_ —  
  
There’s that low shushing sound again, slipping in from the darkness, and he really doesn’t know where it’s coming from anymore, because he’s gone, wrapped in warm memories of Finch and the Reds and how hard it was, how much easier it was, and he’s gone, gone . . .   
  
Legion watches intently as Shepard drifts into unconsciousness, shifts in its arms once more, then begin to snore. In the initial planning of this, it had decided to leave once Shepard-Commander was asleep. But, now that it’s here . . . it can’t bring himself to stop rocking, to stop replaying the lullabies it had downloaded off the extranet. The human’s eyelashes are dark on his cheeks, his face soft, but lined with more wrinkles since the platform last saw him.  
  
After a moment, consensus is made. It will stay until Shepard-Commander wakes.  
  
“Sweet dreams, Shepard-Commander,” Legion finds itself saying, unprompted, startling itself. Shepard mumbles nonsense and Legion finds itself strangely . . . content.


End file.
